


Necessary

by Dbaw3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Dom/sub, Drinking Urine, F/M, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Watersports, consent is king, human!urinal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: The first time it happened, Stiles was surprised.





	Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr July 2014.

The first time it happened, Stiles was surprised.

He and Derek were making out in the shower, slowly building to round 2 after Derek had thoroughly fucked him on the kitchen counter minutes before. Derek had been extra aggressive, which Stiles had put down to being close to the full moon. Derek didn’t lose control like the younger wolves, but he did tend to get a bit more possessive and non-verbal (if that was possible) at certain times of the month, and when Derek had picked him up from school at the end of the day, Stiles had been walking out, talking with Lydia.

If Stiles didn’t find wolfy possessive!Derek so hot, he would have been pissed. Then again, that was mostly why he had made sure he and Lydia were whispering so closely when he came out of the building.

Even after, in the shower, Derek’s kisses had a little more teeth to them than usual, the hand in Stiles’ hair pulling a little more than caressing, and Stiles could feel his own dick hardening again. He did love this, about as much as he loved the more tender Derek no one would guess existed, the one who would spend what felt like hours licking all over Stiles’ body, worshiping every part of him, cherishing him. He loved this side of Derek, too, the one which forgot to be careful and just took what he wanted and didn’t seem to care if Stiles liked it or not.

Derek pulled back abruptly at that point and used the grip on Stiles’ hair to push Stiles down to his knees, hurting him just a little (just enough). Stiles figured Derek was looking for a blowjob, and looked up at him with a knowing smirk.

Derek didn’t pull Stiles to his cock, though, he just stood there, giving Stiles his own smirk for a moment, then grabbed his dick with his free hand and said, “I think you need to remember who you belong to,” and proceeded to piss. On Stiles.

Stiles was stunned. He knelt there, his mouth gaping open, as Derek directed his stream down Stiles’ legs, across his chest, and finally aiming it directly as Stiles’ own cock. He didn’t move, didn’t even think he was processing much of any of this, until Derek moved to kick his legs wider, his stream coming just a little bit harder, and Stiles suddenly came all over Derek’s calves.

He may or may not have lost time after that.

He does remember being back in bed later, the two of them freshly scrubbed and lying there, Derek stroking his back the way he usually did, as if he expected Stiles to leave if Derek stopped touching him for even a moment.

“Okay?” Derek asked, and Stiles thought about pretending he didn’t know what Derek was talking about, just to see if he could make Derek say the words. But to make Derek say anything, it would have meant Stiles would have had to say something, and he wasn’t ready for that, himself.

So, he just said, “Yeah,” and that was the sum total of their conversation on the subject for a long time.

 

It wasn’t the last time it happened, though.

 

Time went on, monsters came and went through town, and Derek and Stiles had some awesome sex. And occasionally, Derek would piss on Stiles in the shower. At first, he’d do it with enough pauses and intense looks that even if he didn’t say anything about it, before or after, he might as well have had a flashing neon sign over his head saying “I’M ABOUT TO PEE ON YOU, I HOPE YOU’RE OKAY WITH THAT!”

Which Stiles found secretly hilarious, until he finally couldn’t keep it a secret before and actually burst out laughing. Derek looked completely startled at first, then vaguely offended until Stiles caught his breath enough to reach out and pull Derek to him, giggling into the kiss, which seemed to go a long way towards soothing Derek, even if the mood was completely blown.

“Dude, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” Stiles said, still smiling at Derek, “but I kind of like what we do. You may have noticed an orgasm or two from my general region, in fact.” Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles just smiled harder. “Since you seem to need permission, here it is: I enjoy it when you urinate on me,” he said, over-enunciating in his imitation of the most annoying, over-explaining substitute teacher ever. “Please feel free to urinate on me at any time.”

Derek harrumphed (seriously, it was a harrumph!), said, “Don’t call me dude,” and pissed all over Stiles’ feet. The mood had turned more silly than sexy at that point, so it just made Stiles laugh rather than turned him on, but the point was made.

Well, it turned him on a little.

 

Derek seemed to take Stiles’ words to heart, though, and from then on, it seemed like every time they showered together (which was a lot), Derek pissed on him. In fact, it got to the point that Stiles started to wonder if Derek was saving ALL of his piss for Stiles.

Then one morning, Stiles was showering on his own, taking his time trying to wake up, when an equally sleepy Derek opened the shower door and stepped behind him. Stiles waved a hand at him and grunted in a way which he hoped indicated “Thank you, but I am not currently in the mood for shower sex. Please inquire again later,” but he didn’t really care all that much at that point if it was clear.

Then Derek started peeing on the backs of Stiles’ legs, yawning the whole time.

Stiles, still half asleep stood there and took it, finding the sensation almost soothing, though for once not arousing, and tried not to fall asleep in the shower spray.

Derek continued to piss, shook his penis a couple of times, mumbled something that might have been, “Thanks,” and left the shower.

Stiles continued with trying to wash himself without drowning.

It wasn’t until 20 minutes and at least two cups of coffee later that Stiles was awake enough to blink, turn to Derek at the breakfast bar next to him and say, “Wait, did you come in the shower JUST to pee on me?”

Derek kind of shrugged and took another bite of his toast. It would have looked completely casual to nearly anyone, except that Derek wasn’t looking at him, and Stiles could see the very tip of the ear closest to him turn pink.

Stiles thought about it for a second, felt his cock give a twitch (which he knew Derek knew about, but said nothing), and shrugged himself. “Okay,” he said, and turned back to his coffee.

From there, it became obviously a Thing they did. It wasn’t an obvious change, not at first, but from then on, Stiles didn’t consider a shower complete, whether he started one on his own or not, until Derek came in and pissed on him.

Then it went up a notch one night when they were getting ready for bed, Derek called Stiles downstairs to their first floor bathroom, casually dragged Stiles into the shower stall, pissed all over Stiles (and the boxers he’d been planning to sleep in), shook himself off, tucked himself back into his sleep pants, and left.

Stiles knelt there for a second, not sure if he was aroused or offended. He went with aroused, with a side order of kind of uncomfortable, since wet boxers weren’t particularly sexy.

Except they must be, because he found himself jerking off and coming in under 30 seconds.

After a brief wipe down in the sink (and leaving his boxers in the shower, because if Derek was going to piss on them, he could deal with them in his bathroom in the morning), he walked back upstairs to their bedroom to find Derek reading in bed as if nothing happened.

“So, when you get the green light, you really go,” Stiles said wryly, crawling under the covers.

Derek didn’t look up from his book, just said, as he turned the page, “Problem?”

Stiles gave it some thought, but knew he couldn’t play hard to get, not when Derek knew he’d rubbed one out afterwards. “Nah,” he said instead, and smirked when he saw  
Derek try to hide his own smile in his book.

 

After that, things picked up. If they were in the loft, it was just a given that Derek would call out to Stiles at some point during the day, and Stiles would follow him into the bathroom. It became almost mundane. Which didn’t make it any less hot, at least to Stiles.

Not too long after that, there was a regular Saturday gathering of the pack. They were all sitting around the loft, eating junkfood and yelling at the TV, something Derek had questioned the need for (especially since he ended up having to clean up most of the inevitable mess), but which Stiles had always fought for as a “necessary pack bonding ritual,” but really it was an excuse to get all the chips and sodas he normally had to fight Derek to keep in the apartment.

They were watching the latest season of True Blood and heckling it wildly, as well as engaging in their usual debate on who was the hottest. (Surprisingly, at least to Stiles, Alcide was not the number one choice for the wolves. Scott had been the one to point out to Stiles that not everyone found the overmuscled, unshaved look sexy. Stiles figured they were crazy and let them know that every time they watched the show.)

Stiles was in mid-argument about Sookie’s hottiness, when Derek passed behind him, flicking him in the back of the head before moving to the staircase.

“Hey!” Stiles said, acting more affronted than was necessary while rubbing the back of his head.

Derek merely jerked his head to the side, then started walking up the stairs.

Stiles watched him go up, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Derek continued up, but again, jerked his head in a beckoning motion, and raised his own eyebrows.

Uh, no, Stiles thought, and shook his head.

Derek was on the last turn around the spiral staircase and even more emphatically jerked his head in a beckoning way before stepping up into the loft and out of sight.

Stiles was suddenly aware of total silence, aside from the TV, and everyone looking between him and where Derek had disappeared upstairs.

“Um, excuse me,” Stiles said before launching himself towards the stairs and up them, in a much less sexy way than Derek had managed.

When he got to the upstairs bathroom, Derek was leaning casually against the sink, looking for all the world as if he was waiting patiently. Stiles crowded in with him, closing the door behind them.

“What the hell?” Stiles whispered, mindful of the room full of werewolf ears. “You can’t be seriously wanting to do this NOW! With everyone downstairs?”

Derek just grabbed his arm, without saying a word. But instead of moving him into the tub, he made to sit Stiles down on the closed toilet lid.

Stiles had lines he wouldn't cross. He didn’t have a lot of lines, but he knew he had them. He figured doing kinky things with his boyfriend while the whole pack was just downstairs was the biggest line he could imagine.

That he was currently hard in his jeans was just a sign that it didn’t know what was good for Stiles.

“No!” Stiles shout-whispered, bouncing up from the toilet. “Are you crazy?”

Derek moved him to sit down again.

“Derek, I am not letting you pee on me while our pack is here!” Stiles insisted, staying seated while Derek undid his flies. It would probably have been more convincing if he hadn’t also been staring at Derek’s crotch while saying it.

“I wasn’t going to pee on you,” Derek whispered, pulling out his dick. Then he waited.

Which made Stiles’ brain screech to a halt, and he looked sharply up at Derek’s face. His calm, blank face.

Was he saying…?

Stiles had never been one to let sleeping wolves lie, he thinks anyone who met him would be able to tell you about that. Every hint of a new kink Stiles had ever discovered about himself (mostly with Derek, but not all), he’d spent hours online researching and looking for all the variations until he knew exactly what he liked and what he didn’t, what he was willing to try and what he wasn’t.

That hadn’t changed with the introduction of watersports into their lives.

So, it wasn’t as if Stiles hadn’t known people could drink it. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t curious. It wasn’t even as if Derek hadn’t watched him lick it off his hand recently when Derek was done, testing the flavor (not a lot, since Derek drank about 60 gallons of water a day which, considering the games they’d been playing, made sense), and the knowledge that he was taking this most basic part of Derek inside himself. He’d just never thought about doing it with all his friends in the next room.

Stiles blinked, and Derek was still there, still waiting, semi-hard dick in hand.

And Stiles knew he could say no and mean it, and Derek would believe it and not push any further, knowing he’d found a line and never try to cross it again. They’d come up with a safeword ages ago (Phyllis, because it was the least sexy name ever, in Stiles’ opinion), and he knew all he had to do was say it, and Derek would back off.

Because there were other people here, other wolves, and they would KNOW.

Stiles’ dick gave another traitorous twitch.

Stiles took a deep breath and leaned forward, never taking his eyes off of Derek’s. “Go slow,” he whispered, and opened his mouth, waiting.

Derek’s eyebrow twitched, which was the only change in his expression, before he leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and laid his dick softly on Stile’s outstretched tongue.

Derek did start slow, just a trickle at first, and Stiles was grateful. He knew Derek had been drinking a lot, and now he thought about it, he’d stuck mostly to water, not even having coffee this morning. The taste, as Stiles had noted before, wasn’t particularly bad. It was only a little musty, like water from a bottle left in a car too long.

But there was certainly more of it than he’d have thought possible.

Derek had given him just a little bit, just enough to fill his mouth, and stopped pissing. And waited. Watched.

And Stiles swallowed.

Derek grunted, his eyes briefly flashed, and he started his stream again.

He kept it slow still, but didn’t stop again, Stiles learning how to swallow quickly without letting too much escape his mouth. By the time Derek was done, shaking his dick twice to free it from the last few drops into Stiles’ mouth (like at a urinal, Stiles thought), Stiles was panting and Derek was almost completely hard.

Stiles dropped his eyes from Derek’s face and watched his dick, and he knew he looked hungry, starved. He expected Derek to grab his head and start fucking his mouth, but instead, Derek just shoved his cock back into his pants, and zipped up, then went over to wash his hands, just as if everything was normal.

Nothing was normal about this, Stiles knew, but holy fuck was it hot.

Stiles fully expected Derek to leave then, just as he had on any of the occasions he’d pissed on Stiles, but he surprised Stiles again by coming back to him, Stiles still seated on the closed toilet seat, and leaned down to kiss him.

And it wasn’t any kind of brief peck, it was a big one, hot and hard, and full of tongue apparently searching out Derek’s own taste in Stiles’ mouth.

When he pulled away, he wasn’t even breathing hard, while Stiles felt like he was going to need an oxygen mask or pass out any second. (‘Fucking werewolves,’ Stiles thought bitterly.) Derek then leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“You were worried about them finding out,” Derek said softly. “They’re wolves, Stiles. What makes you think they didn’t know before?” Then he walked out.

Stiles came before he even got his dick out of his pants.

 

The weirdest thing was that everyone had been so NORMAL after that. No one said anything weird to him. No one looked at him differently. And he knew that even if they hadn’t heard anything (unlikely: Erica’s hearing, in particular, was scary good), they had to SMELL something. As he sat there with everyone, pretending (badly) to watch the next episode on the television, the lingering taste of Derek’s urine in his mouth, he thought about what Derek had said. As much as Stiles washed after every encounter with Derek, Life with Werewolves was weirdly, at times uncomfortably, intimate. There wasn’t much you could hide from them, even if you wanted to. If they hadn’t said anything, it was because they were okay with it. Because they had to have known, the first time that Derek pissed all over him, what he and Derek were doing.

And fuck him, did that turn him on.

 

Later, after everyone had left and Stiles was at the sink cleaning what few dishes there were that didn’t go straight into the trash, Derek came up behind him, and wrapped his arms around Stiles, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“Okay?” he asked.

Stiles carefully put the last dish in the rack, wiped his hands, then turned to push Derek down to the floor (not possible, Stiles was aware, unless Derek wanted to be there), and rode Derek like the last horse at the rodeo to show how okay he was with things.

 

Stiles would have expected, as all their other progressions with this and other kinks had done, to naturally flow (har-har, Stiles thought to himself) from there, but Derek reverted back to just pissing on Stiles in the shower. At first, Stiles thought Derek was trying to set a line for them. Maybe Derek wasn’t as into the other as Stiles had been. Then Stiles remembered how hard Derek had been when he’d tucked himself away in the bathroom, how much he’d obviously, deliberately planned it. Then he realized Derek, as usual, was making decisions for him because he thought he knew what was best.

And fuck him, Stiles thought, seething from the bench during lacrosse practice where he had plenty of time to think about things like how his boyfriend wouldn’t let him drink his pee. Stiles might have been a total bottom, and he might be edging into sub territory even, but fuck Mr. I’m-the-Alpha Pants and his fucking unilateral decisions that always ended WRONG.

Stiles was thirsty, dammit.

So, when they were in bed that night, Stiles having delivered one of his (if he said so himself) spectacular blowjobs to Derek, he gently continued to mouth at Derek’s cock, as if soothing it to its flaccid state.

Stiles, having been sleeping with Derek for a couple of years now, and living with him for the past six months since he’d turned 18, knew a few things about Derek. How his normal snarky demeanor turned completely non-verbal in the mornings without coffee; how he had a secret love for Ellen DeGeneres that no one would ever hear about from Stiles (unless absolutely necessary); and how Derek always, always had to piss right after he came.

Derek sighed in contentment and nudged him. “Come on,” he said. And Stiles just smiled angelically at him, continuing to lick at the head of Derek’s cock.

“Stiles, I mean it, let’s go,” Derek said more insistently, propping himself up on his left elbow.

Stiles continued to smile at him, and sucked the soft head of Derek’s cock back into his mouth and waited.

Derek rolled his eyes, then flopped back flat onto the bed. “Okay,” he said, sounding weirdly resigned for someone with his cock in someone else’s mouth, Stiles thought, “but you’re changing the sheets if you miss any.”

He then put his hand to the back of Stiles’ head and began to piss.

He didn’t start with a single spurt this time, but kept up a slow and steady stream, low pressure enough for Stiles to swallow and keep up without missing a drop.

The taste was stronger this time, Stiles noted, possibly because Derek hadn’t seemed to be as careful about sticking to water for a day or two. But Stiles had to admit he loved it, not just the taste, but the whole thing, the sound of the liquid filling him up, the feeling of it gushing into him, even as he swallowed and took more of it in.

God, Stiles loved doing this.

As Derek’s flow started to ebb, Stiles leaned farther down, sucking up the last few drops from him, as if trying to get the last few slurps threw a straw of soda. Then he licked down under Derek’s foreskin, just to make extra sure he hadn’t missed anything, enjoying the extra bit of pungent flavor there.

When he finally released Derek’s cock, he glanced up and smiled again at Derek.

Derek smirked back at him, tracing a finger around Stiles mouth. “Prettiest toilet I’ve ever seen,” he said affectionately.

Stiles smiled wider and tried to bite his finger.

 

THEN, Stiles was happy to note, marked the next step of this kink. Derek still occasionally marked him in the shower, but Stiles regularly ended up drinking it at least twice a day. Once Derek seemed to realize Stiles not only enjoyed it, but actively sought it out, Derek’s casual use of Stiles as his urinal went from a bathroom-centric activity to anywhere in the loft.

They’d long ago settled that Stiles loved to be ambush fucked. He got off on the idea that Derek would take him anywhere and any time he wanted to, regardless of what Stiles was doing. Since there had been an element of that to what they had been doing with watersports previously, and they were no longer restricted to when Stiles could either strip down to get sprayed in the shower, he applied the same principle of surprise fucks to making Stiles his toilet.

Stiles would be sitting at the kitchen table, and suddenly Derek would just be standing in front of him, unzipping his fly. They’d be lying on the couch together, watching TV, and Derek would just push Stiles’ head down towards his crotch.

Once, Derek had gone out for his morning run, Stiles dozing back off again, because it was Sunday for fuck’s sake, Derek, and he was woken to Derek dragging his head just off the edge of the bed, nearly straddled his head, and inserting his cock in his mouth to let loose what was obviously a long-held post-workout stream with a sigh. It had gone on for quite a while, and Stiles had gagged once or twice from the odd angle, but Derek kept up a steady flow without slowing down or speeding up. Derek had finally finished with a slap to Stiles’ ass and an announcement that Derek had brought back bagels, before he’d tucked himself away and jogged back downstairs.

Sometimes Derek said nothing at all, before or after. Sometimes he prefaced everything with a “Give me a second, Stiles” or “Open up, would you,” but not often. Stiles generally knew what he wanted, without being told.

That time Derek had walked into the room while having an argument with Peter over the phone, unzipping, pissing into Stiles, then zipping up and walking away, all with barely a look at Stiles or even a pause in yelling at his uncle had been kind of surreal, Stiles thought afterwards. More so because it took Stiles a good half an hour, while he continued to flip through all their satellite TV stations without finding anything to watch, before he realized what was so strange about it.

Derek didn’t even “make” Stiles drink it all the time. Right after one of his rough, ambush fucks of Stiles over the bathroom counter (Stiles had been shaving when Derek had walked in, lube in hand, and proceeded to pound him senseless), he’d merely kept his dick inside Stiles while Stiles caught his breath, something they both enjoyed, then released a torrent inside Stiles unlike any he’d experienced with Derek. When he was finished, he pulled out slowly, saying only, “Tighten up,” right before removing himself entirely, then slapping Stiles on the ass before leaving.

Derek even found ways of giving Stiles his piss outside of “straight from the tap.” More than one dinner had featured “Derek’s special lemonade,” as Stiles described it.

He was, however, still ready to kill Derek for the time he’d nearly done a spit-take during practice when he’d taken a swallow from his Gatorade bottle to find it was decidedly NOT Gatorade, and Isaac had sat next to him smirking as he “helped” him by pounding him on the back through his coughing fits. It was not ON, he’d ranted at Derek afterwards, to not warn a guy beforehand. Derek had given him a strange look, but readily agreed, and made sure Stiles saw the next time he filled up one of his water bottles.

And it should have been awkward with the pack, it should have been embarrassing and horrible, but it oddly wasn’t. Honestly, talking to them all after he’d had sex with Derek for the first time was much more embarrassing than them knowing Derek was using him as a urinal regularly. In fact, it almost seemed a non-issue for all of them, including Scott. They teased him more about how much he smelled like cum, and never mentioned how much he smelled like Derek’s other bodily fluids.

“It’s a werewolf thing,” Lydia said, seemingly out of the blue while Stiles was pretending to study with her in the library and was really thinking about why, why it wasn’t freaky to any of them. “You’d be surprised how much urine plays a part in werewolf rituals.”

Stiles had long ago given up being surprised by Lydia’s near-psychic ability to know what he was thinking, so he just asked instead, “How do you know?”

“There’s tons of references to it in the Bestiary, if you know what you’re looking for. And, well…” Lydia trailed off, then smiled enigmatically at him.

And he suddenly had mental images of things Aidan might have done with her, and he was suddenly hit with the simultaneous sensations of arousal and being appalled, and decided not to ask any more questions.

“So is this even a kink for you?” Stiles asked later that night as he watched Derek put on his sweat pants before coming to bed. “I mean, if it’s such a normal werewolf thing, do you even get off on it? Am I, like, fetishizing your culture or something?”

Derek looked at him as if he were an idiot. Not a new thing, really. “Believe me, Stiles. What we’re doing? Not a normal werewolf thing,” he said as he walked over to Stiles’ side of the bed and pulled the front of his pants down slightly. “Now, open up.”

Derek followed up relieving himself with a nice long, thorough facefuck, as if to convince Stiles that he did, in fact, get off on it. Stiles felt satisfied with the answer.

Things just got easier—and weirder—and weirdly easier from there. Pretty much every gathering after that, Derek didn’t even try to be subtle about taking Stiles with him to the bathroom.

Strangely, Derek always seemed to hold it until everyone was there on the days of pack gatherings.

The first time it happened—well, Stiles supposed it was the second time—Stiles followed Derek out of the bathroom, trying to seem casual, when Allison got up from the couch and asked if anyone wanted anything to drink from the kitchen.

“I assume you’re not thirsty right now, Stiles,” she teased him as she passed.

There was a pause, then Isaac started snickering, followed by Scott breaking out with his rather undignified giggle, and that was that.

Two weeks later, Derek and Scott were locked in an epic battle of Mario Tennis (really, Stiles didn’t even), when Stiles heard Derek call for a timeout, which brought him out of the conversation he’d been having with Erica about their English test on Monday, assuming that was his cue. Derek hadn’t gone for a while before everyone got here, and with all that bouncing around, Stiles was surprised Derek’s bladder hadn’t nearly burst before now.

“There are no timeouts in Mario Tennis!” Scott declared loudly, sending another volley back Derek’s way. Derek returned it with a growl and a glance at Stiles.

Oh, yeah, Derek needed him bad.

A minute more passed, and Stiles just waited, watching Derek and Scott continuing to play without pause, but definitely with more looks Stiles’ way from Derek.

Finally, Boyd, who’d been watching the game avidly, said without taking his eyes off the TV, “Just use the toilet in here, Derek. Not like you need to go into the bathroom, anyway.”

The room went quiet, except for the sounds of the game, but Stiles saw both Scott and Derek shooting glances at him, could feel everyone else’s eyes go back and forth between him and Derek, waiting, waiting to see if their Alpha would be offended. If anyone would argue.

“Yeah, Derek,” Erica said casually. “It’s not as if anybody here minds.”

Stiles was surprised when Scott spoke next. “You want to wuss out and forfeit, that’s your business, Derek,” he said, taunting Derek, but looking at Stiles, even as he continued with the game. “You do what you gotta do.”

And Derek just kept looking at Stiles, long enough that Stiles was surprised it didn’t all become a moot point, but he still managed to match all of Scott’s moves on the game, even as if he was looking at Stiles, as if to say, “It’s your decision.”

But it wasn’t, Stiles hoped his gaze back. 'It’s never my decision, even if it always is.’ That’s the point.

It was a few more beats, then Derek said, “Come here, Stiles.”

Which was how Stiles found himself between Derek’s legs, the pack all around them, seemingly paying no attention as Stiles drank down Derek’s piss in huge gulps, and instead cheering on Scott and Derek playing some stupid video game.

Which was also how Stiles ended up creaming his pants without even touching himself. He decided later he was just relieved that he didn’t spontaneously combust from the mixture of embarrassment and arousal at that moment, he’d take having an orgasm in front of all his friends. The uncomfortable walk up the staircase to get a new pair of pants was almost worth it.

But it was another barrier down, another door thrown open for them after that. The next time Boyd came over to watch a baseball game with Derek, and it went to extra innings, Derek just pulled Stiles off the couch and down between his legs as he watched the game intently, yelling with Boyd at a bad call midway through his flow down Stiles’ throat.

The next time Lydia was over studying and she and Stiles were at the kitchen table, books spread out in front of him, Derek came back from his run and went straight to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of OJ. Then he walked straight over to Stiles and stood in front of him, just like he would always do post-run, and chugged straight from the bottle just as Stiles pulled him out of his pants and chugged straight from Derek.

When he was done, he yelled at Derek to get a glass.

“You get a glass,” Derek taunted back, and Lydia rolled her eyes at both of them.

And all of the times after that, it just became a normal part of their routine, as if it was every day you saw one pack member pissing down another’s throat.

Soon, it was every day.

And through it all, none of them acted weird about it.

Then Stiles found The Picture.

They were in bed, Derek finishing up his book while Stiles surfed on his laptop.

Derek didn’t even glance over and said, “Getting bored already?”

Stiles smirked without looking up, making his way through his favorite go-to porn sites. “Well, I’ve got to find some new ideas somewhere.”

Then he saw it, and his breath stopped.

It was an image like a thousand others online. He’d seen a lot of them, even a lot of watersports pictures. Most of them got him hot, some of them had a bit more “edge” than he was looking for in his life, or the wrong edge might be the better way to put it. He liked Derek just using him, but like he would any object he owned; he had no interest in being humiliated beyond that. And some of the photos involved scat and, ew, no. Stiles had his limits, and that was apparently it.

This photo, though.

It was a guy pissing into another guy’s mouth. He’d seen a dozen like it just that day. What caught Stiles’ breath, though, was that behind the guy pissing, you could see a door, partially open, and a line of guys waiting their turn, just like any guys standing outside a bathroom, waiting to use the urinal.

And suddenly, he was thinking of the pack, always in their apartment, knowing what he did, and deciding to use him the same way Derek had done, and it just hit him, how much he wanted that.

Derek had leaned over, having guessed that something had caught Stiles’ eye and looked at the photo. Stiles thought about changing it, hiding it, shouting, “Nothing!,” but it seemed a little late for that.

They’d talked, ages ago, about Derek sharing Stiles with someone. Derek sometimes tried to dirty talk about it (though normally Derek’s dirty talk was more like awkward and awful talk), about what a slut Stiles was and how he’d spread for everyone, how Derek would MAKE him spread those pretty legs and that pretty hole. How he’d do it for the pack, be the pack bitch, and how he’d look with each of them riding him until Stiles passed out, and maybe after.

And the idea was hot, and Stiles kind of wanted it, but not enough to be able to ignore the look in Derek’s eyes, liked he’d give this to Stiles, but it would kill him. If he didn’t kill any of the others for fucking Stiles first.

Derek was staring at him, and Stiles swallowed and stared back. He might be freaked out by what he wanted, but he wasn’t ashamed. He refused to be ashamed of what he wanted.

“You know, if we do this,” Derek said, all seriousness, “it’ll be everyone.”

Stiles shuddered. “God, yes,” he said, wanting it so bad.

“Even the girls,” Derek went on.

That gave Stiles a little pause, but also made him shiver. He’d long ago realize women didn’t do anything for him, sexually, and he wasn’t sure if he could do something so kinky with them. On the other hand, it kind of added a new element: this wasn’t about what he wanted, it was about what he could do. What he would provide.

Stiles nodded.

“Even Scott,” Derek said relentlessly.

Stiles hesitated again. Not with the thought of doing that for Scott, his best friend, his oldest friend, his brother, but the idea of what that would do to them.

The thing is, Scott hadn’t ever laughed at him, didn’t comment on what Stiles smelled like back at the beginning, and didn’t seem freaked out about it. And he’d all but encouraged Derek to piss down Stiles’ throat in front of everyone.

“If he agrees, then yeah,” Stiles finally said.

Derek smiled at him.

They spent a good couple of weeks discussing boundaries and how they both wanted this to work. Like any serious conversation between them, it was half-sarcastic and half-sincere. It was also more than they’d ever talked about This Thing before.

Derek had talked to the pack, without Stiles, for which Stiles was grateful. As much as the thought of doing this was hot, Stiles really, really didn’t want to talk about this. For one thing, it would kind of ruin a big part of what made it hot. For another thing…Stiles really, really didn’t want to talk to them about this.

Then it was pack night.

Stiles sat in the bathroom, waiting for Derek to finish tying him in.

Derek hadn’t been thrilled by the idea of tying him up—never liked the idea of anybody being tied up, to be honest—but Stiles had been the one who insisted. He couldn’t be allowed to leave, he couldn’t be allowed to chicken out. Or at least so that he had the illusion of it.

Derek stood up, staring at his eyes, and said, “Tell me the rules.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but took a deep breath.

“I don’t talk to anyone,” he started.

“That’s one,” Derek agreed.

“No one talks to me.”

“Two.”

“No one fucks me.”

“Three.”

Stiles stopped.

Derek reached down and tugged at his trapped balls. “And four?” he prompted.

Stiles gasped. “I don’t come. Like that’s an option.” The chastity device was relatively new, but kind of became necessary. It wasn’t so much that Stiles wasn’t allowed to cum—god keow he came plenty when Derek fucked him over every surface of the loft—but Stiles got tired of how much laundry he was having to do, coming from Derek using him all the time. For this, it was just to keep him on edge all night without the chance to go over. Hopefully he wouldn’t have an aneurism in the meantime.

Derek gave another sharp tug and squeeze to his balls, then let him go.

“What’s your word?” Derek asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes again. “It’s the pack, Derek, it’s not like I’m going to need it.”

“Your word?” Derek insisted.

“Do you honestly think they wouldn’t stop if I told them to? Any of them?” Stiles asked, seriously.

“Your word, Stiles?” Derek said again.

Stiles sighed. “Phyllis,” he finally said.

“Good boy,” Derek said, patting him on the head.

Then he unzipped his fly with one hand, pulled out his dick, and shoved it unceremoniously into Stiles’ mouth.

Nothing new, though he’d pushed it so far back, when he started to let go, Stiles couldn’t even taste it, just swallow on instinct. He whined at being denied the taste.

“Toilets don’t get a say in how they’re used,” Derek said, as if to no one in particular, as he finished up. He did, however, pull out enough to do his two-shake ending routine, splashing a couple drops onto his tongue before he zipped up and went to wash his hands.

Stiles sighed, half-excited, all nervous, as he heard the loft door slide open and Boyd call out, “We’re here.”

Derek didn’t say another word to him, as he opened the door and turned out the light.

It should have been boring, sitting naked in the dark while a party went on in the rest of the loft, but instead it was as if the anticipation might kill him. No one looked in, no one asked where he was because everyone KNEW where he was. And every time his mind started to wander, someone would walk past the open door, and his breath would hitch as he thought, now, is it now? Who’s going to be first?

It felt like hours, but was probably no more than 10 minutes, when he saw Boyd stop by the door, and ask in a clear voice, “Hey, Derek, is the toilet working?”

Without a pause came the answer, “Sure. You know where it is.”

Which was Stiles’ cue. He could safeword before anything happened, he thought, as Boyd turned on the light and closed the door behind him, unzipping his fly even as he approached Stiles. He could say stop and everyone would stop and no one would argue, and everything could go back to normal.

Stiles opened his mouth.

Stiles didn’t get much of a look at Boyd’s cock before it was placed on his tongue, but it was wide enough even soft that it stretched Stiles’ mouth pleasantly to hold it there for long. It was also cut, which was definitely a different sensation to having Derek’s cock in his mouth.

It took a couple of seconds before the flow started, but when it did it lasted a long, long time. The flow was never too fast, which Stiles appreciated, but it also tasted strong, like Derek’s sometimes did when he had a lot of coffee during the day.

When the flow started to taper off with a couple of last dribbles, Boyd used his hand to squeeze out the last few drops. Stiles decided to help by gently sucking what was left out.  
Boyd sighed, as if in relief, then tucked himself back in his pants before going to wash his hands.

Stiles felt like he was going to faint, he was so excited.

When Boyd opened the door to the bathroom again, turning out the light, Stiles could see Derek leaning, casually, against the doorframe.

“Hey, man,” Boyd said with a nod back in Stiles’s direction. “What’s with the hardware?”

Stiles knew he was referring to the chastity device, and Derek must have, too, because all he did was smirk and say, “Leaky plumbing,” which made Boyd laugh, pat him on the back and walk away.

The next person to come in was Isaac, who strolled to the mirror first after shutting the door, as if he was checking his hair.

“Hm,” Isaac said, as if talking to himself. “I wonder if Derek ever told Stiles that was MY Gatorade in his bottle that one time.”

Stiles barely stopped himself from squeaking in affront. He was going to kill Derek for not telling him.

“Ah, well,” Isaac said, continuing the conversation with “himself.” “I’m sure Stiles will figure it out eventually.”

Isaac started pissing almost immediately. His flow was strong and steady, and his urine had a slightly more bitter taste to it than Boyd’s or Derek’s. And, yes, it was a familiar flavor. He also shoved his dick just a little bit further back in Stiles’ mouth, not quite to his balls but almost.

He was also pissing through a semi, Stiles noted.

Stiles did not suck out the last of Isaac’s pee when he finished, just as a small revenge for the Gatorade bottle. Isaac did dribble a few drops onto Stiles’ face after he pulled out, though.

“Ooops,” Isaac said, all innocence. (Stiles would have to tell him he needed to work on his acting.) “Better clean up the toilet.” He then grabbed some toilet paper and wiped off Stiles’ face like you would wipe down a toilet seat you’d gotten a little wet.

Stiles felt and heard himself dribble into the porcelain toilet below him.

Isaac didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he threw away the paper and left the bathroom.

“About time,” Erica said impatiently from the door when Isaac opened it. “Some of us are waiting to use the toilet, man.”

“Well, go on then,” Isaac said, waving her in. “It’s still working.”

Erica muttered as she came in, slamming the door behind her. “Some people are so RUDE,” she muttered as she approached Stiles.

Derek had discussed this with Stiles, the logistics of the girls using the “facilities,” if they wanted to. They had figured out a way that Stiles was tied so that his hands were behind him and he could be reclined, bringing his mouth to a much better level for one of them to straddle him.

It didn’t hurt that Erica wore some killer tall heels, so when she hiked up her skirt after sliding him back, all she had to do was straddle his head and hunker down a little.

This was definitely a new experience for Stiles. He’d never been this close to a girl’s girl-type parts, and everything felt very mysterious to him, even as his head was clamped between Erica’s thighs.

Fortunately, she didn’t give him enough time to panic, as a gusher of piss escaped her.

Probably not surprising, he felt like he ended up with just as much of her piss on his face as what went in his mouth, the angle and projectileness of it being completely alien to what he was used to. The smell and the taste were also far mustier, even as he recognized it all as being very clean. He just…huh.

Erica’s flow stopped, and Stiles tentatively reached out his tongue to lick some of the last bit of moisture from her.

Erica groaned and pressed her groin harder into Stiles’ face.

Stiles licked a little more firmly.

When she began to rock against his mouth, he wondered if this wasn’t crossing some line, a line Derek had set, but she sounded so beautiful, all the little gasps she was making, and she tasted so sweet, and Stiles was horned up beyond belief from this night, and just wanted to give her something just a little bit more…

There was a banging on the door, followed by Isaac’s voice saying, “You fall in?” followed by some laughter.

Erica groaned in frustration, and suddenly was no longer straddling Stiles face. He gasped for air he hadn’t known he was missing as she yelled back, “Hold your damned horses.”

More banging, and this time Derek’s voice: “Other people need to use the bathroom, Erica.”

Erica scoffed as she pulled her skirt back down and made her way to the sink. She spent a moment checking her hair and reapplying her lipstick (where she’d been keeping lipstick in that skirt, Stiles had no idea), then slowly walked to the door.

She flung it open to Derek, Scott, and Lydia all standing in the doorway.

“Best toilet ever,” Erica said to Lydia as she passed, smirking.

Derek smirked himself, eyes raised, as he entered the bathroom and shut the door.

He frowned again as he approached Stiles, then made a detour to grab a washcloth from one of the drawers under the sink before wetting it in the faucet.

When he got back to Stiles, he matter-of-factly sat him up straight again and started wiping down his face, all the while muttering to himself about people not cleaning up after themselves.

Stiles blushed slightly (how he could still blush was beyond even him), realizing how wet Erica had left his face.

After Derek tossed the rag towards the shower, he unzipped himself, then shoved into Stiles’ mouth.

This was comfortable and familiar, but still no-less hot, feeling Derek spurt down his throat again, before holding his head tightly and going seamlessly from pissing to throat-fucking without pause.

“Should have told everyone,” Derek muttered, as if to himself, thrusts getting harder as he neared his limits more quickly the usual, assuring Stiles he wasn’t the only one being affected by tonight’s events. “This is what else a toilet’s good for.” And then he came.

Stiles’ trapped dick twitched, and he wanted so badly to come. So badly. But if he asked Derek, if he spoke at all, the night would be over, and Stiles didn’t want that.

He needed more.

After Derek zipped up and left, it was quiet for a while, the others settling down in the living room to watch a movie. Stiles heard it from where he sat in the dark, the first Captain America movie starting, and he pouted a little about them watching it without him.

Boyd came in again a little while into the movie to use him, then Isaac for a second time.

Lydia and Allison were both conspicuously absent, but Stiles found he didn’t mind. He only wanted them to if they felt comfortable, and he knew the others wouldn’t pressure them if they weren’t. Stiles was just grateful now that they were supportive of him, of this.

Someone else was conspicuously absent, as well, but Stiles was trying not to think about it.

Instead, he thought about the different tastes of everyone, how each person’s flavor was changing as the night went on and they drank more water or soda. How Isaac’s urine was spicier than Boyd’s, but Boyd’s had an almost sweetness to it that he couldn’t explain. He knew diet affected the smell and taste greatly, and he’d noticed Derek had cut back a lot on the sulfurous foods since they started, but he also wondered how much was just each person. He started to wonder if he eventually might even be able to tell the difference between each of them, just by how they tasted.

God he wanted to come so badly.

Finally, Stiles heard the movie end, and everyone wrapping up the night. People would be picking up their stuff soon and heading out, and part of Stiles really wanted that to happen so Derek would come in here take off this stupid thing on his cock and fuck him into next week so he could finally CUM.

Part of him wanted to stay here, waiting for everyone to come use him, forever.

Outside of the bathroom door, he saw Derek talking seriously with Scott, who had a bottle of beer in his hand. Stiles couldn’t hear most of what was said, other than “okay” and “upstairs” and “don’t be a dick.” The last was the most surprising: he was used to hearing Scott say it to Derek far more than the reverse.

Finally, Scott nodded and handed Derek his beer before entering the bathroom and turning on the light. He closed the door and stood there for a moment facing it before apparently coming to a decision and turning towards Stiles.

Stiles, who felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

He tried to keep his breathing calm, his heart beat level, but he knew it was a lost cause, the idea that Scott wouldn’t hear it. He mainly didn’t want Scott to think he was panicking and leave.

But all he could think was 'This is Scott, this is Scott, this is SCOTT,’ over and over, chanting in his head without pause as he watched Scott’s fingers shake just a little bit as they undid his fly and pulled out his cock.

Scott laid it gently in Stiles’ open mouth, and they both paused there for a second, nothing happening, neither of them moving, before Scott began to release.  
Scott must have been holding it all night, because it was a steady, beer-tasting stream (Stiles was very familiar with the flavor of recycled beer at this point) that didn’t seem to have an end.

On and on it went, and the chant of 'This is Scott, this is Scott,’ went from being a near-panic rambling to a mantra of calm. This is Scott. He could do this for Scott.

When the flow finally slowed and stopped, Scott stood there for a second, his completely soft cock just resting in Stiles’ mouth, and it felt comforting more than hot, and Stiles smiled as much as he could around the cock still in his mouth when he felt Scott place his hand on the back of Stiles’ head in a soft pet before pulling out and away.

And it was against the rules, against the point of this–no one petted a urinal they just pissed in. But it was so Scott, such a moment of “I love you and I want you to have what you need” that Stiles couldn’t blame him for it.

Scott went to wash his hands, and sniffed, and Stiles would have worried, afraid that Scott hadn’t really wanted to do this and was upset about what he’d done, if he hadn’t seen Scott’s lopsided rueful smile reflected in the mirror.

When Scott opened the door, Stiles could hear the others all saying their goodnights and heading towards the door.

“Hey, guys,” Derek said suddenly. “Can you all come here for a second?”

Derek walked into the room and straight towards Stiles. Stiles thought he wanted to piss one last time, but instead of undoing his pants, he leaned over behind Stiles and started undoing the ropes.

And Stiles felt a slight bit of panic. This wasn’t what they’d agreed to, how it was supposed to go. The others weren’t supposed to see Stiles as Stiles tonight, just as the toilet, a urinal, something to use and walk away from. They weren’t supposed to see him enjoying it. He started to babble a protest as the ropes came loose.

Derek grabbed his chin firmly and looked him straight in the eye, and Stiles instantly felt his panic recede. “This was for you,” Derek said firmly. “This is for me.” Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

Kiss was perhaps not the right word. Devour would work. He shoved his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, as if he was chasing the flavors there, which was incredibly hot to Stiles, but also confusing.

“Wait,” he tried to say, sort of tried to pull away, even as he tangled his own tongue with Derek’s. Because Derek wasn’t into it, not from Stiles’ perspective, didn’t want that flavor in his mouth. “I taste like piss,” he managed between kisses.

“Yes,” Derek growled into his mouth. “You taste like PACK,” he said with emphasis. “You taste like MINE.”

And suddenly, Stiles found himself straddling Derek’s naked lap facing out, facing a slightly confused (and, in some cases, obviously aroused) pack. Derek was now sitting on the closed toilet seat, his jeans gone somewhere along with the device around Stiles’ dick, and Stiles’ legs spread on the outside of his, exposed for all of them to see as Derek rubbed Stiles’ naked ass back and forth across his own hard cock.

“This is what I need you to see, what I need you to know,” Derek said, speaking to the pack in what Stiles thought of as his Alpha voice. Then he turned to Stiles and spoke to him. “You may be our toilet, but you’re MY bitch,” he growled, and raised Stiles up and pushed him back down, straight onto his cock.

Stiles threw back his head and cried out, tried to fuck himself down, but finally gave up when he realized his had no leverage. He tried to reach for his dick, to give himself the one touch he knew he’d need to finally get release, but Derek grabbed both of his wrists in one hand and held them away.

“Bitches come on the cock they belong to,” Derek grunted, never stopping his hard thrusts up.

Stiles whimpered in frustration, but took it, let himself be handled and got harder for it.

“Going to let them all use you, any time they want,” Derek growled in his ear. “You’re going to be so full of piss, you’ll slosh when you walk. You’ll never stop smelling like it, like us. I’ll let them all jerk off in your mouth, your filthy toilet mouth, and you’ll love it, won’t you?”

God, Stiles was never going to complain about Derek’s dirty talk again, he thought, feeling everything ratchet up higher.

“And then,” Derek went on, and Stiles whimpered, it was all he could do at this point, “you’re going to come home, and I’m going to make them watch while I fuck you full of my pups.”

And Stiles didn’t know if it was what he said or the particularly strong thrust or the others watching them and panting or all three that tipped him over the edge, but his vision whited out and he came harder than he ever had before in his life.

Derek grunted and thrust into him three more times before he came.

Stiles was on the edge of consciousness when he felt Derek pull him up and off (and he whimpered at the loss), and found himself laid in the shower stall. When he felt the familiar comforting warmth of Derek’s urine falling on his body, marking him, he only smiled, his eyes still closed.

He stayed awake only long enough to hear Derek tell the others, “Any questions?” before he let unconsciousness take him.

 

Life went on. Monsters came and went. The body count at Beacon Hills High stayed relatively low. Stiles would have liked to say he was content with that, but he tried not to lie to himself so much anymore.

Despite Derek’s dirty talk and any expectations after the party, the pack continued to act as if nothing had happened. No one dragged him into the boy’s restroom to relieve themselves, no one said anything about it at all, and Stiles was man enough to admit, at least to himself, that he was a bit disappointed.

And he was more than a little sad because Scott seemed to be avoiding him. He never said anything mean to him or even act awkward around him, but suddenly he wasn’t available to just hang out for a whole week, and that…that just wasn’t normal.

It’s not that he blamed him. There was a whole boatload of awkward that came along with this. But Stiles couldn’t help a little part of himself from thinking bitterly that no one forced Scott to be there or do what he did.

And Stiles would hate himself forever if he lost Scott as his best friend.

Stiles moped around the loft, and Derek tried to ignore all the heavy sighing (except when he told Stiles to stop sighing, for fuck’s sake), and relieved himself in Stiles when he needed to and fucked him through the floor, just because he could.

So, yeah, normal.

The next Saturday, the pack was at the loft, per usual, and Scott was sitting over in the loveseat by the stairs with Allison, and Stiles was leaning against Derek on the couch and trying to ignore all the whispers and nudges coming from the direction (and totally failing), when Scott took a deep breath and stood up, Allison smiling encouragement at him.

“So, Derek,” he started off tentatively, then took another breath and straightened up. He said, stronger, “I was wondering if the toilet was working.”

Stiles whipped his head around, first looking at Scott, who was looking serious, then at Derek, who gave a small smile and a nod.

As Scott moved in front of him, Stiles smiled up at his best friend and opened his mouth.


End file.
